


Masterpiece

by wintershellraiser



Series: Masterpiece [1]
Category: The Dark Knight, the dark knight joker - Fandom
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, F/M, Light BDSM, Oral Sex, Sexual Content, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:27:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29454534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintershellraiser/pseuds/wintershellraiser
Summary: Not every session is cruel and dominating.
Relationships: ledger joker/reader, the dark knight joker/reader
Series: Masterpiece [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2163507
Kudos: 7





	1. Watercolor

**Author's Note:**

> So I used to write a lot on Tumblr. I am trying to write more often, but this is a semi-old piece of work. I write him a little differently now, but this is supposed to depict a rare window of him being "gentle" even though it isn't normally seen as him. 
> 
> I wrote this last year and if there are mistakes sorry I never read it over to check.

You cried out in pleasure as his sinful tongue worked your blushing folds, delicate rose petals turned deep red as you were flicked, lapped, and prodded by his slick, warm muscle. He whispered his desires into your feminine core, his breath reeking of gasoline as if he drank the toxic liquid. He would now taste you, rich and creamy as his saliva and your arousal created a concoction of lust. All that was missing was his own arousal, but that could wait. He was busy feasting as if it were his last meal. Dirty green locks fell over his face, stray hairs grouped together in thick, stringy clumps. His looked like he just showered and his hair was grouping on it’s own, falsely damp hair acted as curtains to a show oh so erotic. There was something so alluring about having a man between your legs and worshiping your sex as if it were made of gold and diamonds.

Bare hands covered in paint held your plush thighs, long, unkept nails dug into your soft flesh as he held them open. Heat spread like wildfire through where his skin touched yours, you felt it in your toes, in your core, in your breasts, lips, and cheeks. He tore away from the sweet nectar you had been offering and latched onto the thin flesh of your inner thigh. Filthy teeth bit once he found a suitable spot, not puncturing skin, but firm enough to prevent you from jerking away. He sucked on the spot, bringing blood to the surface, pressing a deep purple bruise against your pale skin. He longed for the familiar copper taste in his mouth, warm, oozing crimson to be splayed on his ravishing tongue. He would settle for your arousal, it would satisfy him for a bit longer before he got the urge to see the scarlet life-force compliment your milky skin. His two favorite colors on you were purple and red, and he was sure to paint you every single time he had you beneath him. It was a luxurious, sinister desire of his, and one you allowed him to fulfill. An erotic watercolor that he was so eager to create, how red and purple complimented each other, he always thought red was one of the better colors on you, but purple would be his all time favorite.

For you, the calmer affections were warming your beating heart, instead of raw passion you were being met with patient adoration. Being worshiped like an alter, being treated like a luxurious treasure inside a sacred temple. You knew not that he could possess such touches, that he had such control. For once, there was no demanding domination. Only natural roles, he was on top and you were on bottom. What had brought him to such a gentle state? Was he drugged, maybe amnesia? His eyes were chocolate pools, not obsidian voids, his face bare of any remanence of who he was. His skin was smooth and moisturized, despite being caked in greasepaint most of the time. Scattered freckles decorated his skin, you focused on them and tried to count when you could manage to think through the pleasure he gave to you. His abused, mangled flesh from a morbid event made this action feel so much more taboo. While most found him to be hideous, a horror to behold, you found him to be prepossessing against a sea of ordinary, faceless people. His scars were beddable and arousing to you, despite the wrong thought about it. You shouldn’t find his deformation sexy, yet when you saw them glistening in the dimly lit room, you couldn’t help but clench.

You had always engaged in intimate acts with the lights off, however, you had your fairy lights on this time. Green and purple decorative strings of lights were hung around the boarder of your bedroom and kept the dimly lit room full of soft color, true it was still dark, but the lights provided enough of a viewing experience for you. They complimented him, his signature colors as you say, he looked so natural under the glow of the colored bulbs. His deep eyes reflecting small orbs of violet and green, he looked up to you through his eyelashes as he moved back to lick up your slit. His button nose rubbed a circle around your swollen, throbbing bud and trailed to your entrance. He was memorizing your scent, wanting it ingrained in his sinuses so he’d be able to smell when you wanted him.

His tongue came out and pushed past your silken folds and inside your clenching walls. He curled his tongue in and out of you, thrusting it slowly so he could taste you completely. You were more intoxicating to him than the smell of gasoline or the thrill he got with committing arson. The addictive thrill was overpowered by the sheer deliciousness and the pleasured sounds from you, he wanted to hear you. Your gentle moans and sudden gasps were something in his control. Even while eating you, he was in control, he liked the thought of being able to play you. You sounded better than any instrument, any song, any musical than he could hear.

Glistening skin in translucent juices rose up, he retracted his tongue from inside you and turned his head, a deep, angry scar becoming visible. It made you shiver, seeing it so detailed, bare, and close. While admiring it, he pressed his mangled flesh into your clit and rubbed side to side, up and down. Oh how deliciously sinful that was. He rubbed his scars on your soaked core, he could feel your bud throbbing against his abused tissue. His tongue came out and licked your inner thigh as he moved his scars against your sex, it looked as if he were nuzzling you, the view being both sweet and arousing all at once. Your breath was shaky and uneven, your hands gripped the sheets in pulses.

You felt the cold metal of a blade, he was ardent, patience running out. He sat up and drug the blade along your sternum, seeing the familiar coating of crimson appear. The sharp sting of the cut didn’t bother you, not when you were looking at his expression and how it lit up with morbid pleasure seeing you bleed for him. It covered your skin and dyed it a beautiful color, velvety smooth and alluringly dark, he leaned down and licked the first exposed supply, there would be plenty more where that came from. He spread it around your body, tracing your breasts with the liquid and drawing a ‘J’ on your hip with it as he smeared what was left of his paint from earlier on the other side of your hip. He went back down between your legs, you studied his scars more, the lights really created vivid shadows along them, their own intricate webbing and electric spindles. His half lidded eyes darkened with bags from the remanence of his makeup and lack of sleep, he looked ghostly. He was working you to a powerful orgasm.

You felt heat build from your clit and it ran through your legs and into your toes, your core tightened, you felt your breath picking up as you reached your peak. Your legs began to tremble and your head threw back, “Jack…” you had moaned, you received a low hum in response, further sending vibrations on your clit and aiding in your white orgasm. You felt light headed as you released, your core feeling electrocuted softly with pleasure instead of voltage. He kept on pleasuring you until he felt that your orgasm had run it’s course. You breathed heavily, your legs continued to tremble in his hold.

He climbed your body, his face shamelessly covered in your orgasm. He had chuckled, leaning down and connecting his lips with yours. It was a sinfully delicious kiss; your arousal, orgasm, and blood mixing with a single ingredient of his, saliva pooling and swirling with your own as the three aspects combined in your mouth. The more your tongues tangoed, the more the concoction was mixed. It was a taste so addicting, you could live off of it. His plush lips felt so good against your own, his teeth playfully bit and pulled on your lip.

J pulled away and looked at you for a moment before rolling onto his back next to you, his naked body was a rare treat for you to behold. Littered in scars from battles and torturous traumas, he hadn’t exactly healed. But, that didn’t stop him. You admired the neatness of scars, the messiness of them, the pretty ones and the violent ones. You found him to be a beautiful blank canvas, and one you would paint. Your brush being your tongue and the paint scarlet water thickened with life as he provided a great deal of it for you. You provided him with paint, so he can do the same for you. Him moving to his back told you what to do without him even having to voice a thing.

“Your turn.”


	2. Acrylic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reciprocation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference the first chapter's notes.

His bare body laid flat against the bed, chest heaving calmly as he stared at you with deep eyes made of cocoa. They held their own galaxies, honeyed caramel reflected and made his orbs look glossy and full of life. It contrasted his usual dull and deadly look he wore with his blackened sockets and crimson grin. He was clean of the persona he displays for the world and allowed you to see him for who he was before, while he likes to think his old self died, you both knew that Jack lived inside The Joker.

Translucent scars littered his smooth olive skin, you gently traced over many, one in particular that caught your eye. A long, thin, neat scar leading from his hip bone and up his side to the bottom of his ribcage. He looked down at you, positioned between his legs and caressing his thighs and delicately running the pads of your fingers over his tattooed scars. They bulged out if they were aggressive, expanding with harsh bolts of lesioned tissue, the shy ones stayed sleek like the one you were tracing. J’s trench made him look bulkier than he was, perhaps that’s why he wore it. He peacocked and puffed himself up like an animal for others to visibly be bigger purely for intimidation purposes. His body was actually very lean, he wasn’t decked in muscles but he did have prominent ones when he flexed. Training from his army days and fighting off Batman nightly really kept him in shape. However, he didn’t look like a dangerous psychotic clown now, not one who kills hundreds of people, not one who takes pleasure in inflicting pain and suffering. He looks like Jack, a soldier who was cruelly treated and tortured, one who spent his life heartbroken and suffering alone until he was driven into the madness of murder. He became what he had swore to hunt down as a sergeant, the hunter became the very animal he was trained to kill, and the animal inside him killed the hunter. You were the only one to make him realize that the hunter wasn’t all dead.

Running your finger up and down the one on his side, you looked up at him and whispered a word of love and admiration. A usual response would be to grunt, scoff, grumble in subtle denial, but this time you were met with a gentle tug on his lips. As if there were two hooks pulling at the corners of his mouth just enough to create a small smile. It was a smile only you got to see, genuine, not feral or crazed with murderous, sadistic adrenaline. It was a pure smile, true feeling and amusement, all for you.

Your hand was gentle when you took his length in your hold, you heard his breath hitch when you finally decided to hold him in your hand. J wasn’t really a fan of being on his back, it made him feel vulnerable, you weren’t sure why he was allowing this. Maybe he enjoyed the vulnerability? Maybe he knew he was safe, you were just as protective over him as he was over you, you would risk your life to keep him safe. The memory of seeing you protect him from a gang boss flashed across his mind, it really got him going and made him realize you did care, your actions backed up your claims of love. As your hand stroked up and down leisurely, J let out a relaxed sigh, making it known to you both that he was okay with this. He did enjoy it, he was content being on his back this time. Made him feel human again, the mask he wore every day for years fogged up his mind and while he preached that he wasn’t a monster, he never really felt human either. You reminded him that he was, in fact, still a man.

His erection stood up like a soldier readying for his sergeant, you held his length and as you stroked him, you could feel him. How his skin pulled with your strokes, the few protruding veins and ones you could visibly see through his skin, how his head swelled in anticipation for sex. His sac was surprisingly smoothed, you weren’t sure how they normally looked and never cared, really. Looks didn’t matter, it all worked the same right? He had an attractive appearance, he was neatly trimmed and you wondered if he cleaned himself up for you or if he’d always been responsible with grooming. You’d be shocked if he was, as poorly as he cared for the rest of himself, it wouldn’t surprise you if he had just started to groom. You looked up and asked him if he’d ever dyed his hair to match, a soft chuckle emitted and a pretty eye roll accompanied it.

You licked over his precum coated tip, his own tongue, your taste fading from his mouth, darted out to lick his scars. His bottom lip coating in saliva and moisturizing it for the time being, he could always get more later. Right now, it was your turn to please him, and please him you shall. Your tongue was soft and precise, you had complete control over the muscle. J could tell by the way you curled it over the mountain of his head, how you slid it through the small slit where his supply was seeping from, how you applied the right amount of pressure in different places. You knew how to work your mouth for him, you knew everything that made him groan. Even a simple lick from you radiates a low grumble from his broad chest.

As you took him into your warm cavern, he sighed and allowed you to suckle on him for a moment before his hips made a gentle upturn. He wanted you to take more, not used to such slow pleasure, he was refraining from pushing himself completely inside. Your hands massaged his hips as you began a steady pace, bobbing your head and pressing your tongue into the bottom of his length. He tasted delicious, smelled of gasoline and freshly tailored clothes, he must’ve washed his suit…  
Your tongue swirled over his tip with each bob, he released a groan as you sucked and swirled. The soft flesh of your cheeks and throat were comforting to his sex, it was a second home, aside from his pants. You could feel the veins on your muscle as you coated his length in saliva, you were drooling at the sight of him, so sucking on him only made you want him more. Your own sex was growing antsy at this, his taste was something you were so addicted to. You both had a craving for each other, no matter what it was. Arousal, blood, anything you could lick from his skin. You looked up to him and held your hand out, immediately did he hand you what you were wanting. The handle was cold, so was the blade.

You sunk completely, he was as deep as he could be in your throat. With you being so well trained, you could stay in this position for a bit, you continued to suck him during this and you took the blade firmly in your hand to cut. You used it as your paintbrush and pressed it firmly into his sternum, as he had done to you, and you drug down, releasing crimson. He was a deep scarlet, thicker than your own blood, the result of a poor diet maybe? You weren’t sure. You popped off his length and licked up the fresh blood, continuing your trail up to his neck and biting down. You sucked a rough bruise, he gripped onto your plush hips, crescent blood moons breaking through your skin. Your hand squeezed and jerked him around, up and down steadily, squeezing harder around his throbbing head. The noises he made were unlike anything you had heard before, he gave in, no longer holding back.

You reveled in the glory of being the only one to make J moan in pleasure, he bucked into your hand as you jerked him off. You twisted your hand and pulled from his neck, he had a bruise now, one to match your own. He twitched, throbbing in your hand, you knew he was close. J released your bleeding hips and let you go back down to taste him, his breath picked up, as his sounds became more frequent you could tell he was about to burst. The hot feeling in his gut was overwhelmed when he was pushed down your throat again, your cheeks hollowed and tongue pressing hard against his sensitive underside, protecting his sex from your teeth. His back arched as his hips thrusted up, a growling mewl ripped from his throat as he released thick, hot ropes of cum into your mouth and down your throat. Naturally, you swallowed. Everything about him was thicker, his cum, his blood, his skin. You were painting with acrylics while he handled watercolors.

You pulled off, licking your lips as he reached to your cut, gathering blood on his finger. You copied his action and ran your finger along his cut, crimson covered fingertips met lips. You sucked on his finger and he sucked on yours, tasting blood and arousal from when you handled his length. His eyes were half lidded, cheeks off-pink, and small beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He took his finger out and bit down on yours just enough to send hot signals flashing warning signs to your brain. You leaned down, removing your finger, and replaced it with your lips. You kissed his torn up lips and stroked his scars, straddling him as you did so, showing him you loved him entirely and that he was safe this way. J was not a mushy gushy man, but in this moment he cared not. Your cuts aligned and you pressed your bare chest against his, mixing your blood together.

This was the beginning of a piece of art that you’d never forget.


	3. Masterpiece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You finally bond as one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference chapter one's note.

Lust can really make you do things with little thought, it drives you to seek out rougher and darker desires. Lust makes you turn to your feral side, it makes you want to fuck. To feel the burning stretching as you are torn apart, the sharp stinging as your skin is sliced open, the heat spreading through your skin as your muscles begin to grow tired from working to manage the intense sex. Lust makes you desire pure, aggressive passion. While it can be erotic, it isn’t so much about feeling, it’s about desire. What you were doing now wasn’t partaking in the sin of lust, but rather you were making love. Everything about this, what is was right now, was spreading your affections over your bodies.

You were rolled on your back, plush lips pressed into yours. They weren’t vigorous, they weren’t ravenous, they were soft, gentle, calm. They lingered on your own and took the time to taste you completely. You pressed your lips into his, giving back just as much, the bitter taste of two orgasms released a small moan from you. Rough, calloused hands ran down your body, pressed firmly against your skin, feeling how your body curves, fills out, gripping your hips once his hands reached them. Your legs spread themselves upon instinct at the familiar touch, his sex touched against your glistening folds. He released a small grunt once his throbbing length met your heat.

Masculine girth rubbed against your slit, slow thrusting as he spread your new arousal around. You watched his muscles flex and relax with each small thrust, not many were being used but the littlest of movements showed his skin being pulled. His head poked through your folds as you encased him in a soft petal blanket, each new thrust coated his head in more shiny juice, his own and yours. You looked to his chest, his cut was drying and the blood began soft clots just as yours had done. Your eyes met and neither of you were quite fond of this so it was silently agreed that you’d pick up the blade and use it as a paintbrush.

Stroke, stroke, stroke.

More crimson, more paint. Hands smoothed it around, coating your skins in a pretty layer of reflecting scarlet. The lights in the room gave the color a different hue, J’s being more on the green side and yours being on the purple side, purely because of the positioning of your bodies and the lights. You whined quietly, a hushed moan of ‘Jack’ caught his attention. For a moment, you forgot this handsome, docile, gentle man was The Joker. Not that J wasn’t handsome, oh he was extremely attractive to you, but bare faced, hair washed out, he looked different. Younger without the creases his face paint makes, you didn’t want to say normal because honestly…your normal was J’s crazy. Though you hated that word.

Bodies now painted, you felt your core burn as he entered you, it was a slow and steady thrust until he was as deep as he could be. You felt yourself stretching around his girth, you held back a cry as he halted his movements. For once, he was patient, allowing the tight constricting of your sex to relax around him. His hands still held on tight, your nails dug into his flesh and scratched up his shoulder blades, small cuts forming at the force of your pressing. A hiss of delight left his lips, he crashed them into you but quickly allowed the kiss to be gentle despite the sudden smashing. His tongue slid over your bottom lip and you allowed him safe passage past your greedy teeth, your muscle pressed against his as you fought him for dominance. A fight normally lost the second you chose it, but this time he gave you a fighting chance.

His length slid out and back inside at a steady pace, the feeling of being emptied by him, even for a mere second, was torturous. You so desperately wanted him to give you more, but begging would trigger him to tease and you had little patience for that now. He was just getting started and you wanted to witness the show. His hips were thrusting languidly for now, surely they’d pick up, you could see how his body flexed and relaxed, again something you noticed highly. Even in the dim lighting, he was reflecting the very colors he wrapped himself in, thanks to the fairy lights. You picked them for that reason, he had you to thank for that. He teased you when you bought them, you wanted to feel close to him even while he was away.

Your bodies were slowly becoming one, his chest leaned down, his blood dripping onto your chest. Your own blood was pooling between the valley of your breasts, so naturally, his hands met them and slowly massaged the plush mounds. You couldn’t deny the fact that you enjoyed that he was massaging them instead of groping them, it felt good to have his large hands around them, nipples perfectly in the center of his palms as he continued to squeeze and rub them around. He moved from your lips and to your neck, applying another color to his painting.

More purple, he thought.

While he still wanted red to be dominating, purple would add a nice touch. While he was busy, you cupped his cheek in one hand and rubbed the scar, it was mean. Sending violent tissues around the deepest gash, trying to be intimidating but really, it was sore and scared. Afraid to be ugly, to it denied it’s ugliness and wore makeup. Now that it was bare, it couldn’t hide, dare you say it was uncomfortable. Maybe that is why J was trying to hide his face by burying himself into your neck. You wanted him to know you didn’t care, you could never say or show it enough. You’ve been told that you say ‘I love you’ too much, you didn’t believe love could be outdone.

His pace quickened, not being animalistic, but being fast enough to make you feel the pleasure shooting up your spine and releasing as loud moans. He grunted and growled quietly, The Joker still trying to dominate Jack. However, Jack was victorious and his growls turned into moans with you. Your room held in those sounds so you could hear them amplified inside the walls of your dreamy atmosphere of purple and green. Jack’s face was contorted into gentle ecstasy, feeling your walls clench and rub his erection was so enthralling to him. While he wasn’t savagely fucking you, he could feel you even better, like if you rushed eating a slice of cake. Sure it was good but you couldn’t really savor it, could you? Savoring it and making it last was what made it exceptionally good, tasting it for longer, just like now. He could feel you for longer, feel how you stretched and constricted like a hungry snake around prey.

His hips snapped and became erratic, both your cores were tightening and building up a knot that would soon have to be released. J laid on your chest, connecting your colors, your bodies fused into one at that moment. Your souls were seeping into each other, your life force fueling the other to keep going. He thrusts, your arch and roll to meet them, He observed your body just as you observed his. How his body moved, the way his hair flicked, how his scars flexed; he watched your face, your chest, himself entering and reentering you, seeing you let him into your most sacred space. Your body was beginning to release the knot and your eyes rolled back, with a cry of pleasure did you meet your orgasm. You were tighter and slicker, hotter even, coaxing Jack into releasing his own sensual climax.

When all was said and done, he pulled out of your comforting, velvet walls and stared down at you. You were covered in blood as you always were after sessions but this time was different. You were smiling up at him, not while he disguised himself, but bare, him, Jack. You looked to his lips and you used your thumb to rub one of your new cuts, your other hand did the same to one of his. Thumbs coated in blood, you looked up to J and he to you, curiously observing your movements. You reached up, slowly, the tension building. He didn’t flinch away from you, instead stood firm as your thumbs touched his bottom lip with a feather light stroke. Then you fully pressed your thumbs onto his lips and followed the torture that was shown to you, tracing his scars. You’d applied the brightest red you’d ever seen on his face, the action made him smile.

He licked his lip and reached down to your cut and reapplied the spot he just licked, then using his thumbs to mimic the double scooping of blood did he press into your lips and draw a smile. One that mocked his own, but one that you both could see was one of understanding. You understood him, and instead of becoming angry or frustrated internally, he just laughed. Short giggles, hiccuping snorts, loud cackles. You joined the slow building symphony of roaring laughter at the morbidly affectionate action you began. Your bodies were different, ones that held different stories but were bare to one another; the only colors to ever show up on you both were acid green, chaotic purple, and crimson red. You felt like a disaster, colors watered down, thin, and in desperate need of renewal and something to take the abuse away, something like a shield from the world, something to make you feel tougher; J felt like an abomination, skin and blood thickening to a harshness that released itself onto the city in mass murders and arson explosions, only water could calm the destruction and disperse the chaos. Separate, you two couldn’t ever be desired, the world was too cruel to you and he too cruel to the world, but together did you both balance each other out into a beautiful piece of art that everyone in Gotham longed to have hung in their mansions.

After all, a masterpiece always used mixed media.


End file.
